


A Queen's Path

by CosmicRooibos (MurasakiDoku)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Boners, But here it is, Drag, I see your "junkrat has freckles" headcanon and raise you "junkrat has vitiligo", Magic, Multi, Royalty AU, a strictly roadrat fic from me at last, high fantasy setting, idk why junkrat always ends up being the one i play with gender identity with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurasakiDoku/pseuds/CosmicRooibos
Summary: In a world where technology and magic coexist, a young prince is banished from his home "until he learns how to be a proper man." Instead, he uses the opportunity to get to know herself better and accepts her life of physical seclusion instead of having to be someone she isn't. The choice to humor an unusually strong and talented warrior ends up sending her down a path she hadn't expected.Chapters are not published in chronological order.





	A Queen's Path

**Author's Note:**

> This one is an experimental doozy and an exercise in on-the-fly worldbuilding, so it might be a little bit everywhere.
> 
> For the sake of establishing factoids: This isn't Earth, but there are places that have names and cultures that are reflections of Earth. Jamison Fawkes is not white/caucasian, nor is he transgender; he's a genderfluid/nb drag queen, so his pronouns will constantly be changing. If you'd ask him what he'd prefer, his answer would be something along the lines of "Just use whatever seems most appropriate for a given situation."
> 
> I think that about covers it, but let me know if you have any questions!

“Your Highness, there’s been something on my mind...but I haven’t been able to ask about it, for fear of seeming too blunt and ignorant.”

 

“Out with it, then,” she says. “Reckon there’s little else to do on this long walk.”

 

“Why do you wear such makeup even when you’re not expecting company?”

 

“Eh.” She shrugs. “Just something to do. Besides, I’ll do webcam correspondence and such. Just because I was  _ banished _ doesn’t mean that I’m free from my bureaucratic responsibilities,” she adds, rolling her eyes at the point.

 

Mako chuckles. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

 

Behind him, and out of his line of sight, the princess and the shoulder-height purple dragon exchange knowing glances between each other.

 

These woods provide cover from the oppressive heat. Jamie’s off-the-shoulder gown keeps her cool, especially ever since she tore the train off of it with her bare hands to create a mid-thigh dress. Sombra, the “formerly teacup” arcane dragon wears a large harness that allows her to carry the large selection of personal effects that she deems most worthwhile to bring back with her. The small dragon is, and probably will always be, far too small to actually carry humans, much less fly with passengers, but she doesn’t mind holding her best friend’s (and her own) most important stuff.

 

They talk more about her makeup, like where she learned how to do it (the internet since mother didn’t have the time) and how long she had been (since ten), where she gets her inspiration (“the entropy of the universe”). 

 

“I suppose it’s just as odd to me,” she says, as she takes his hand for him to help her down a steep ledge made of exposed roots, “for a man like you to be so interested in a woman’s makeup.”

 

“I don’t usually like heavy makeup on ladies.” Once she’s on her feet on solid ground again, he takes the lead. “But I like your style.”

 

“To give due credit to other women, I spend  _ hours _ on this. Most women can only afford half an hour or so to the task. One of the privileges of being locked up in a tower...you know.”

 

Mako laughs at her self-depreciatory joke, and she smiles at the sound of his joyful deep bass. “Plus,” he adds, “It’s something you’re obviously passionate about.”

 

“You sound like you’re about to ask me to give you a makeover.”

 

She watches the back of his shoulder shrug to the side that isn’t bearing the weight of his battleaxe. After a few moments of silence, he finally speaks up again: “Maybe I’d like to get my nails done.”

 

Jamie snorts in amusement. “You mean just color or do you want acrylics, art, the whole shebang?”

 

“What’s acrylics?”

 

“Fake nails, built from scratch. My  _ real  _ nails are only half this length.” She holds up her left hand, sporting significant length of stiletto-shaped nails in a sunny, glittery orange. Mako gives a glance over his shoulder to observe before bringing his eyes to the front once again.

 

“Just color. I think adding length would put me in a handicap.”

 

“Oooh, I don’t know about  _ that. _ ”

 

The princess reaches up and curls her fingers to draw feather-light scratches down his neck. Mako shrugs away from the touch and she giggles, light and airy but long-winded.

 

“You’re cute when you pout.”

 

_ She’s _ the one that’s cute, he growls internally.

 

Over the days that they traverse the wilderness on foot, the two of them forge a closeness that none of them expected. They tease and joke with each other with surprising ease, considering that they seem like total opposites: Mako is the battle-hardened veteran who seeks only the thrill of the fight and the adventure, using whatever fortune he amasses in the process to simply treat himself to creature comforts when in town, while Jamie is a chatterbox, refined in her vocabulary but unrestrained in sharing her opinion, a pile of wealth at her fingertips but spending in very specific, calculated ways.

 

He thinks it’s ironic, sometimes: despite his years of fighting, he’s never suffered any grevious wounds, only a littering of scars, while Jamie -- despite her sheltered and prim life -- has been dismembered twice from practicing magic. Neither of them mind it, because for every lesson that doesn’t kill you, it only makes you stronger: she replaced her limbs with non-sentient geode golems, making her look like her flesh was taken away to reveal a shimmering rainbow of blues, teals, purples, mauves, whites. She has full maneuverability thanks to the kinesis gaps that make up her joints. The proportions are a far cry from what they’re supposed to be, but Mako finds them all the more appealing for it. What he really likes about her, though, is that even though she’s a princess, she handles “roughing it” far better than even some men he’s met.

 

Meanwhile, she used to wonder how he keeps such bulk intact when he spends hours a day walking by foot with several pounds of armor, a combination of plate and mail. Her curiosity immediately vanished when she saw how efficient a hunter and gatherer he is; despite the three of them facing the harshest conditions, none of them are going hungry. In fact, she suspects that she’s been gaining a little bit of weight, but...it might just be muscle. For all his ferocity, power, and the sometimes-aloof state he can get into during conversation, she can tell he’s a gentle soul— with every animal he hunts for food, he handles their bodies respectfully and says a prayer in Te Reo, thanking them for their sacrifice and wishing them a safe trip to the afterlife. She has yet to tell him that she knows his language.

 

She also has yet to tell him a secret that she has somehow managed to keep for much longer than she thought -- but it’s only a matter of time, she thinks ruefully as she turns over a nearly empty bottle of concealer.

 

One night, they pitch camp by the edge of a beautiful, rocky lake. The sound of the water babbling over the pebbles that line the lake make for calming background noise, especially paired with the crackling fire between them. Sombra is already sound asleep, and the princess is reclined against her breathing abdomen, quietly admiring the stars and moon, enjoying the peace as the sun sets to a full moon night. She idly daydreams of the life she’ll have when they get to Mako’s hometown, living in relative anonymity while still meeting her bureaucratic responsibilities remotely. It’s a breath of relief.

 

She’s distracted by the sound of Mako standing up from his seat on a downed log. “Gonna go bathe,” he declares, deciding to take advantage of the lake. “You gonna be okay on your own?”

 

“Sure, sure,” she says with a nod. “I was thinking about retiring for the night anyway.”

 

He returns a nod of his own. “Yell if you need me. I won’t be far.”

 

He wanders off, eventually breaking her line of sight of him when he passes by some brush. She tilts her head back, not quite feeling as ready for sleep as she thought, and lets her mind wander again…

 

...but instead of starting a new life, she wonders what Mako looks like under all that armor.

 

It’s weird to her. She never thought that she’d be attracted to big--to  _ fat _ men. Most of them remind her too much of the fat cat assholes that sit comfortably on their riches from some family favor done too many generations ago to remember the specifics. They weren’t part of the royal family but they were so skilled in sucking up that her parents didn’t mind that they continually sucked off the royal teat while offering nothing of value.

 

Mako clearly  _ earned _ his weight, in both muscle and fat. It was charming and alluring. Attractive. He’d offered to share his body heat on cold nights, but she rebuffed the offer, for fear of him finding out her secret. He merely thought it was a case of preserving her virginity, and while he thought of it as a ridiculous concept, he wasn’t about to force it. He respected her (assumed) stance, while she bit back the regret of not using the opportunity to come clean.

 

She couldn’t help but imagine what it would have been like…

 

He must be soft. Warm. To be wrapped in his arms would be like wearing her own set of armor. She wouldn’t need pillows. She would time her breathing with his until she fell asleep.

 

But imagining falling asleep isn’t helping her get any sleepier. It just makes her want to see him more.

 

With irritation fuelling her, she stands up to take a walk...in the same direction that Mako went. She has very little choice -- she doesn’t trust her sense of direction enough to wander away from the perimeter of the lake, and to the other direction is a sheer cliff, steep enough to traverse if desperate but would make an awfully awkward casual walk.

 

The weather is mild, even at night. Her walk gets her mind back into her potential future, trying to figure out logistics even before she truly knows what she has to work with--and frankly, her mind gets lost in thought. She doesn’t even notice until a bright, small blue light in her peripheral vision distracts her. It shimmers with organic movement, and Jamie wonders if she’s come across a faerie. She’s prepared her whole life for a run-in with the fae, but she doesn’t know what she’d ask for -- maybe just safe passage for the rest of their journey.

 

She approaches cautiously until she comes to the edge of the water, finding that the light doesn’t belong to a faerie at all. Once she finds that it’s actually an iridescent pattern carved into Mako, she lets out a small gasp and hides behind a tree.

 

Jamie peeks past it in hopes that she can get a better glance at him. The pattern of his tattoos are of Aotearoan origin, but she had no idea that they had magical properties. Her kingdom’s relationship with Aotearoa always struggled; while they weren’t on poor terms, they never could get trade agreements to thrive between them; it had been one of her long-term projects, so she learned much about their language and their basic culture by proxy. Their unique magical practices, along with other more precise information about them, were well-guarded.

 

The ink glows with an ethereal bluish tint, and even from a distance she can make out the incredibly minute details as they start in sharp angles at his mid-back and crawl up to his shoulders, ending at the bend of his elbow. Their shimmer responds to the light of the moon and the way the water runs down the gentle, rolling contours of Mako’s body. His hair is damp and clinging to his thick neck.

 

She has to get a closer look.

 

With a wave of her hands and a twinkle, she transforms herself into a large rat with golden blonde fur. She climbs the tree with ease, venturing out onto a long branch and carefully balancing on it. Like this, she gets a prime seat, hidden by a leaf, as the branch sags under her weight.

 

She feels a stir in her groin as she shamelessly watches Mako’s thick hands run over his arm muscles as they glisten, wet under the moonlight with a small lather by the glycerine soap she’d offered to him some days ago for his use. His hand comes up to take his hair and move it from clinging to his back to cascade over a single shoulder to the front. It’s a shame that he doesn’t have a scrubber to get to all of it, but it’s still fascinating to watch him run his fingers over his tattoo to the best of his ability.

 

He turns around without warning, propping a leg up on what she assumes to be a rock under the surface of the water, lifting his rotund belly (sporting a highly stylized tattoo of a fierce, wild boar) with one hand so that he can wash his genitals with the other. Jamie wasn’t expecting the full monty right then and there, and her tiny rat-body shudders at the sight of his package.

 

No small detail went overlooked when the gods decided to make him supersized. She wonders if he lives a celibate life considering that thing--even when flaccid--could destroy just as well as his axe. For all the  _ repressed urges of a proper woman, _ though, she absolutely  _ craved _ to feel the weight of it in her hands, feel the pulse in her fingers, let it split her apart from the inside…

 

While Jamie is more than happy to silently contemplate her fantasies, the fates have something else in mind. An unexpected wind in the otherwise still air sends the branch she’s perched on swaying, and it breaks her concentration in lieu of clinging desperately for her life to the swaying branch. Maybe if it had stayed like that, she would have been alright, but the wind only picks up in intensity and one broken grasp means slipping and plopping into the water a few feet away from Mako, who is--for the record--completely unphased by the wind, but notices the sound of a small body plopping into the water.

 

Driven by his curiosity, Mako drops everything to investigate the epicenter of the ripples. Twinkling sparkles bubble out of the water like effervescence, turning his curiosity into confusion. He leans down, reaches into the water and touches what he immediately recognizes as a human arm. He grasps it and gently pulls up, bringing, of all people, Princess Fawkes out of the water. He oggles in silence as she sits up, wiping water from her face as her makeup streaks down it. Once she can see again, she looks up at him with a sheepish grin.

 

“You were watching me?” he asks, but his tone implies no particular emotional reaction.

 

“Y-yeah.” No sense in lying when you’re caught red-handed, right? “I couldn’t sleep so I went to take a walk.”

 

He doesn’t buy it, though. He just smirks. “You could have just asked,” he comments, then holds out a hand for her to take. 

 

Jamie shakes her head, waving her hands in decline. “No, I-I don’t think that’s a good idea--”

 

“Can’t get up?” he asks, already leaning over to put one hand across her back and the other under her knees. “That’s alright, I can--”

 

“No no no no no!” she yells. “Don’t--don’t--let me down!”

 

She squirms all she can, but Mako’s grip is solid like iron. He stands at his full height with her in his arms, then looks down at her to find what’s wrong.

 

Her dress fabric goes semi-transparent when soaked with water, clinging to her skin like cellophane. She wears a bra, of course, but in the bra aren’t breasts, rather some kind of foam-like material. Running his eyes down her smooth stomach, past the pit her navel makes, she hides herself with a single hand, but it doesn’t quite hide the entirety of her long, hard erection.

 

_ His _ rock hard erection.

 

This is what he gets for not coming clean about it earlier, when he had the chance. Now Mako is going to be pissed. He’s going to hurt him, maybe even kill him, maybe abandon him right here and now so that he can have the dignity of probably starving to death or getting eaten by a creature. He doesn’t know which one he would prefer, but sitting here and waiting for it is (emotionally) worse than the inevitable.

 

There’s an awkward silence and Mako isn’t sure how much time passes before Jamie breaks it by making a frustrated whining noise, followed with “Could you  _ please _ just be angry with me and get it over with?”

 

“You’re not a princess,” Mako says slowly. Jamie furrows his brows at the prospect of waiting for the gears to turn in Mako’s head. It’s torture, because Jamie’s pretty sure Mako has proven himself to be anything but slow in the head over these last few days.

 

“You’re a queen.”

 

Jamie’s eyebrows shoot upwards and he lets out a nervous, delirious laughter. “What?” he asks between breaths. “You’re not mad?”

 

“No. Where I come from, there are plenty of people like you.” He leans down to gently place Jamie back down into the water. “I apologize for my transgressions, your highness.”

 

He’s not entirely sure why Mako is putting him back into the water, but when he pulls his hands away, Jamie sits up on his own. “I don’t get it. Okay, so it’s common where you’re from, but aren’t you still pissed? You thought I was a woman this whole time. Doesn’t it ruin your plans to, like--marry me and get instant power or whatever?”

 

“I told you before.” He props up his leg to continue washing himself, but he’s facing the other direction now. “I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do...and I enjoy it. What I get is the thrill of saving someone else, not the idea that I could use it as blackmail to get them to do what I want. Besides…”

 

He looks over his shoulder at Jamie.

 

“Even if that was my plan, being  _ whakawahine _ wouldn’t change it. I like pretty women  _ and  _ pretty men.”

 

Jamie’s head drops to stare at the water. In the small waves, Mako’s glowing tattoo tops the crests with a dash of color. “Yeah, well...I don’t make for a very pretty boy.”

 

“You make a pretty  _ Jamie _ .”

 

The sentiment brings a smile to his face, even though it doesn’t lift to his eyes. Mako turns around and kneels before him, causing him to finally look up. He has the bar of glycerine soap in his hands, and Jamie can smell the lemongrass and peppermint from here. Mako lathers up his huge hands with it, then presents them in the direction of Jamie’s face.

 

“You’ve been wearing that stuff nonstop since we met, and now I know why. Let’s give your skin some time to breathe.”

 

Jamie, to his own surprise, nods. He closes his eyes as Mako inches closer, and he can feel the warmth and rough calluses of his fingers smoothing silky soft soap onto his skin, washing days worth of caked on and spot-checked makeup from his skin. The roughness of Mako’s fingers give a pleasurable scratch to all the itches he had forced himself to ignore and all the acne breakouts he'd been hiding. Once Mako is satisfied with his handiwork, he cups a large amount of water into his hands and pours it over Jamie’s face to rinse it.

 

Once the excess water has been rinsed off, he puts a knuckle under Jamie’s chin to lift up his face to get a look at it while the other stares up at him.

 

He was...well...right. His normal, masculine face is made of nothing but sharp edges, all of which he had contoured to soften. he has bushier eyebrows than even Mako does, now that they're not glued down and hidden in foundation. He's suffering acne breakouts on his chin and temples, into his forehead, an angry red with inflammation. His normally olive skin breaks at the center of his face, making it look like he's actually albino-skinned yet dusted with soot. He'd been using foundation to even out his actual darker skin.

 

“I warned you,” he says, but without an edge to his voice.

 

“You've been putting yourself at risk,” he chides quietly, “getting infections like this when we don't have medical care nearby.”

 

He scoffs. “It's just acne.”

 

“For  _ now. _ ” He clearly has no intention of dropping this any time soon. “Stay here.”

 

He stands up and walks to the edge of the lake to pick through his things. He comes back with a hairband and sits behind Jamie. “Lean back,” he requests.

 

“Getting real pushy with royalty,” he says. “I could have you beheaded,” he adds while leaning back into his hold. Mako dunks the back of Jamie’s head into the water and he smoothes out his hair so that he can pull it into a high but loose ponytail. With his hair out of his eyes, Mako excises what he can of his acne breakout and washes with an ample amount of soap. Jamie lets out little grumbles of pain, but doesn't outright complain. It's kind of like getting a facial. For all Mako doesn't know about makeup, he does know skin care. It hurts now, but he'll feel much better tomorrow. 

 

When his face is just about as taken care of as possible, Mako ties up the rest of his hair into a loose bun to keep it out of his face as it dries, then helps him back upright.

 

“Now, if I wake up and see you wearing so much as primer tomorrow, I'll throw you back into this lake.”

 

Jamie snorts. Maybe he has learned just a little bit from listening to her ramble about makeup for hours.

 

“Do you mean foundation? You can't see prim--”

 

“I meant what I said, your highness.”

 

“I can't believe I let you get away with talking to me like that.” He blindly swats behind him and gets a weak clip on Mako’s belly. He laughs, a deep and rumbly chuckle. 

 

“Has the situation downstairs improved?”

 

He'd forgotten all about the situation between his legs. “Yeah,” he admits. “Thanks for the distraction.”

 

He figures there's nothing to be lost at this point, so he stands up in the shin-deep water and finally takes off his soaking dress and padding. The figure that stands before Mako is remarkably twig-thin, nothing but long sharp lines. The only thing feminine about him now is the brilliant geode that makes up half an arm and three quarters of a leg.

 

Mako refrains from commenting on his appearance like this, even though he does find it appealing in a different way.

 

“It's going to take days for this padding to dry out,” Jamie whines.

 

“Coincidentally, we won't be seeing any other humans for a few more days,” Mako tries to console him. “I have some shirts that will fit like a dress on you.”

 

Jamie can't help but smile. He turns around and walks up to Mako, still sitting, while he stands in his naked, masculine glory, and he leans down to give him a grateful kiss on the lips.

 

“My knight in shining armor.”

 


End file.
